Dream of Despair and Desire
by qwertybob
Summary: Harry wakes up in a foreign, but oddly familiar room. He smells chocolate cake and comforting smells in the air, but he knows he's not where he should be. As he explores this new world, he realizes it is more dangerous than any challenge he has yet to face. Can he get back to his real life without losing himself in this false reality he has somehow fallen into? [One-shot].


**Dream of Despair and Desire**

Harry woke up in a room that felt unfamiliar. The bed was too small and his feet were dangling off the edge. He opened his eyes, but all he saw was a blur of baby blues and pastel yellows.

He groped the side of the small bed and found both his wand and his glasses. When he could finally see, he realized he was in some sort of childhood bedroom. The walls were blue and there were Gryffindor paraphernalia lining the walls. He was so confused, but he knew he wasn't in any sort of danger. The smell of the room, of the sheets and of the air was familiar enough for him to not feel afraid. It was a mixture of baked cookies and Quidditch leather—a strange combination, but obviously comforting.

Harry tried remembering something from before he woke up here, but his mind was oddly blank. Of course, he remembered everything that had happened in the last ten years—it was difficult to forget burning a Professor's face off with his own hands, or defeating the darkest wizard in the history of the wizarding world—but he couldn't remember what he had been doing the days leading up to his arrival here.

He got out of bed, his wand gripped tightly in his hand for whatever it was he would face once he left the safety of this bedroom. He almost wished he could stay here. Harry didn't want to leave. His hand rested on the doorknob, considering his path, when something moving at the corner of his eye caught his attention.

Harry's hand let go of the doorknob, and instinctively grabbed at the movement, his hand closing around the cold metal and the scratchy feathers of a Snitch, as familiar to him as his own wand. Startled, but reassured by this small token, he brought it close to his face to inspect it.

It wasn't Dumbledore's Snitch, he knew that much at least. All Snitches looked the same, yes, but something told him this one was familiar to him in the same way the smell was.

It fluttered its wings and he noticed the moving photograph sitting on the dresser. It was Ron and Hermione, waving at him. He didn't recognize this scene. He'd never seen this photo before, but there were his friends, younger than they were now, waving at him.

_Where am I?_ He'd bothered to ask for the first time since waking up. _I'd rather know sooner than later._

He stuffed the Snitch in his pocket like some sort of good luck charm—despite the fact that he was much too old to believe in such things—and opened the door.

The welcoming smell wafted out from the hallway as well and Harry couldn't help but inhale deeply. It was mesmerizing. The voice inside his head, which sounded oddly like Hermione, warned him that this could be a trap, and whatever this heavenly smell was, it was meant to distract him, or even harm him, like some sort of aerosol poison. But Harry was past thinking straight. He needed to find out where that smell was coming from.

He was on the upper floor of some sort of cabin, he realized. It was comforting. If it was a prison, it was the best sort of prison Harry could have hoped for. But it wasn't a prison, that voice in his head told him, this time sounding of Ron. It couldn't be. Prisons didn't have nearly this much crayon art hung up on the walls.

He considered whether he should move down the stairs. He could hear movement, and the slight timbre of voices, but he wasn't scared. Perhaps it was the extreme arrogance of having defeated Voldemort carrying him on right now, but he knew that whatever was downstairs waiting for him, he could handle it. He hardly thought he'd have to destroy seven horcruxes once he got down there. Easy-peasy.

He brandished his wand and took his first step.

The smell seemed to get stronger as he descended. It was making his mouth water and his chest ache at the same time. There was no way poison could smell this good.

_The most dangerous ones would_, Hermione informed him.

_Shut up, Hermione_, he told himself.

Perhaps the potentially noxious poison _was_ messing with his mind.

The voices from downstairs hushed and he paused. They'd heard him. He gripped his wand tighter, and his heart was racing, but the smell reassured him. He could do this. He was not afraid. He'd made it this far. The worst that could happen was that he was engulfed in a sea of chocolate cake, and that couldn't be so bad, could it?

The staircase curled and he took a tentative look around the downstairs before continuing. It looked much like the upstairs, but instead of carpet, the floors were dark-stained hardwood. The rich beige looked like a beachy shore, but there was something reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room, which he found both reassuring and unsettling. He knew something wasn't quite right, but he didn't know what it was.

The whispers continued and he knew he couldn't stay up here much longer. They knew he was coming, so it was probably best not to delay the inevitable.

He took the final step into the downstairs area and braced himself.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" a woman's voice pierced the air.

Harry froze at the scene before him. He could hardly believe his eyes. Nothing—not even Hermione's extensive research, or destroying a million Horcruxes—could have ever prepared him for what stood in front of him, smiling like a gazillions suns.

Lily Evans and James Potter stood in front of him, the latter holding out a green-iced cake with seventeen lit candles pierced into the top. Both were smiling at him with love and expectation at his reaction, but all he could do was stare. He was pretty sure his wand went limp in his hand, about as useful as a wet tissue.

Lily Ev—his _mum_ stood beside his dad, her red hair brushing past James Potter's shoulder. It was messy and wild, but that only added to the blaring intensity of her eyes—Harry's eyes. Her eyes were lined with small crow's feet, and her mouth was turned up in a smile, traced with the small furrows of age. James—his dad, had grey at his temples, highlighting just how dark his hair was, but it still stood on end in every direction, like Harry's. His forehead was more lined than the James Harry had seen in pictures, but he looked just as carefree.

He'd seen his parents multiple times in the Mirror of Erised, the night in the graveyard, in the Forest before his first death, and countless times in his dreams after that, but never like this. They were older, more wise-looking—Harry realized with a chilling thought that this was what they would have looked like had they lived past the age of twenty-one.

This was turning into a very disturbing dream.

Harry was startled from staring at his parents when a girl, perhaps twelve, emerged from behind his mother.

"Happy birthday!" she yelled, running toward him and grabbing him around the waist while pressing her cheek against his chest. She had dark hair just like him, but her wide eyes were hazel like their dad's—

_Their_. Harry had thought 'their', not 'his'. This girl, Harry knew instinctively, was his little sister.

But he didn't have a _sister_. He didn't have _parents_.

Yet, there they stood, one of which had her arms wounded tightly around him in a crushing embrace.

"Harry?" his dad said. "Are you all right, son?"

That last word jolted Harry awake and he detangled himself from his sister's arms. She looked shocked. What was her name? Where was he?

This was much worse than a prison. He needed to get out of here. It was some sort of trap, or trance, or mental torture. He needed to get out.

"Harry," his mother scolded. "What is wrong with you?"

"He's probably still upset about his fight with Ginny," his sister said matter-of-factly.

Ginny! How could he forget about Ginny!

"What?" he blurted.

The girl crossed those vice-like arms across her chest with a smug little smile on her lips. "I heard you two talking yesterday. She sounded angry."

"Marlene Potter," Lily scolded. "How many times have I told you not to eavesdrop? It's extremely rude."

"The candles are melting," James inputted, still holding the green cake. Harry couldn't help but take a closer look at the thing. He realized it was the exact shade of green of his and his mother's eyes, and the decorating job was shoddy at best. The chicken scrawl was barely legible, but he thought he could make out his name. And seventeen candles. Harry's seventeenth birthday had been almost five years ago.

"Stop this!" he yelled suddenly, startling his family into silence. No, _not_ his family. They weren't real. He couldn't let these people—whoever they were—trick him. His parents were dead. He never had a sister named Marlene with dark hair and hazel eyes. He was a twenty-two year old Auror (and orphaned single child) who defeated the Dark Lord five years ago, and this was not real.

"Harry," James frowned. "Do not raise your voice at your mother."

"You aren't real," he said to himself. He raised his wand and his mother's eyes widened. "You are not real."

"Okay, he's definitely gone crazy," Marlene said. She sounded amused. "Should I call St. Mungo's, Mum? Tell them to expect us? The newly made Head Boy won't be heading to Hogwarts this year—"

"Marly, enough," Lily chided. "Harry, love, are you feeling ill?" She approached him with an outstretched hand and he recoiled. She froze, obviously surprised by his action, and paused with her hand in the air.

"Maybe we should take him to Mungo's, Lil," James said, putting the cake down on the table and extinguishing the candles with a pass of his hand. Harry looked for wands on his parents, but he couldn't see any—

"Am I late for the party?" a voice said. Harry turned his head as Sirius walked through the door.

The shock of seeing his dead godfather elicited such a distraction that he allowed his wand to be pulled from his hand. He turned and saw Marly—_no_, the girl—dangle it in his face before quickly running behind their mother with a satisfied smirk.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Sirius said, clapping Harry down hard on his shoulder. Harry's knees buckled and his stomach felt weak. This was the worst kind of torture, he decided. The worst.

Perhaps Harry was dead. Perhaps this was some sort of purgatory. But apparently Ginny was here also, so that didn't make sense. Merlin. He needed to get out of here.

Sirius' eyes flashed in amusement as he looked at James. "Is there something on my face?" he asked his best friend.

"He's been looking at us like that since he's come downstairs," Lily said. This time, Harry didn't move as his mum approached with the back of her hand pressed to his forehead, as if checking his temperature. The shock of seeing Sirius alive had blocked all reactions as he continued to stare at his godfather.

"He's gone insane," Marly said to Sirius, appearing at his side and giving him a side hug. "He fought with his girlfriend last night."

Sirius chuckled as he ruffled Marly's hair and sat down at the table, leaving Harry standing there to stare at his mum in shock instead.

"The Weasley girl, right? Pretty little thing. I think she's related to me somehow…" Sirius mused. He grabbed a fork and took a bite out of Harry's cake.

"Oi," James said, flicking the fork away. "We haven't even started yet."

"What?" Sirius asked with a mouthful of cake. Marly took that as a sign to dig in as well.

Harry had a passing thought that Lily would not approve, but she was too distracted with Harry's state of mind to notice. James reluctantly gave in as Marly offered her father a bite of the badly decorated cake.

"Harry," Lily said, bringing his attention back to her. Her hand was still on his forehead and he realized she smelled familiar too. Like vanilla, and now chocolate after having baked his cake this morning. He wanted this to be real, so badly, but he knew it couldn't be. It couldn't.

"Do you feel ill?" she repeated. "You feel fine, but if you want to make a trip to St. Mungo's, I think we can fit it in today. We were supposed to go to Diagon Alley to pick up your school supplies, but—"

"He's fine," Sirius interrupted with cake in his mouth. "He's probably just hungover. Leave the bloke alone. Am I right, Harry?" Sirius said with a wink.

He almost nodded. Hungover indeed.

"I thought seventeen year olds were supposed to be adult," Marly inputted in that disconcertingly mature voice of hers. She couldn't have been more than thirteen. "He's acting like he has no brain."

"He's a teenaged boy, sweetheart. It's basically the same thing," Lily said, smiling at Harry and patting his cheek. "Sit down, love. Quickly, before the savages eat all your cake."

Harry gave up. He couldn't fight the intense desire to give in any longer. It was all too real. With a desperate sort of release, he realized that if this was a prison, or some sort of torture being inflicted on him from the enemy, he would gladly remain here. After all, it seemed like Ron and Hermione—and Ginny, despite the fact that they were in a fight he didn't remember—were also here.

As he sat down at the table with his family, a strange and foreign sort of peace settled over his chest and he sighed. He was home. More home than at Hogwarts, which he didn't think was possible. _Home_.

Marly handed him a fork with a small glint in her eye. It was the same one he imagined his father had when he went stirring up trouble around Hogwarts with Sirius. Marly smiled at him. "Okay, Harry?"

"Yea, thanks," he mumbled as he took the fork from her small hand. She reached up and ruffled his hair before continuing to eat a small chunk of cake.

"Sorry about the sad state," Lily said, sitting across from him. "Your dad insisted on decorating it. And of course Marly wanted to help," Lily said with a loving smile. It made the breath catch in Harry's throat.

"Tastes great, though, Lily," Sirius said mid-chew. "Almost as good as Halloween cake at Hogwarts."

"Thanks," she said, frowning at his lack of manners.

"It turned out fine," James defended. "I managed to get the color right. Right, Marls?"

"Sure, Daddy," she said sweetly. "But your H's look a bit like M's, I reckon."

"Mappy birtmday, Marry," Sirius said.

Marly giggled as James frowned at both of them.

"It's the most beautiful cake I've ever seen," Harry said before he could stop himself. But it was the truth. Neither the cake Mrs. Weasley and Ginny had made for him for his real seventeenth birthday, nor the homemade cake Hagrid had brought him when he turned eleven, were as beautiful as this one. Nothing tasted better either. Not even Felix Felices, which was liquid luck and tasted of golden happiness. This was still better.

"Are you crying?" Marly asked, peering into Harry's eyes.

"Leave your brother alone," James said gruffly, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "It's his birthday. He can cry if he wants to."

"It's not _your_ birthday, mate," Sirius said with a smile.

"Right," James said, clearing his throat. "Right, I think it's time for presents."

"Presents?" Harry said. In the plural?

James didn't answer as he went to fetch the presents. Harry knew that James could have easily waved his wand and accioed the presents, but he stood anyway. Lily followed him with a small smile directed at Harry.

"Wait till you see mine, it's so clever," Marly announced.

"You're not supposed to brag about your cleverness, sweetheart," Sirius said to her.

"You do it all the time!" she said, poking Sirius in the arm.

He rubbed the spot her finger had jabbed. "Yes, but my cleverness is so subtle and brilliant, most simple-minded folk cannot grasp the extreme complexities—"

"Harry is very simple-minded today," Marlene pointed out. "More so than usual."

Sirius considered her point. "True. Then you are excused, Little Genius."

"Thanks, Uncle Sirius."

"How old are you?" Harry asked her.

She looked offended. "You don't remember?"

"He's simple-minded," Sirius reminded her, eating more cake.

Marlene frowned. "Fine. I'll forgive you this time. I'm five years younger than you. Is that too much math this early in the afternoon?"

Harry smiled at her, so brilliantly that she was taken aback. "You're my sister."

Marlene snorted. "Uncle Sirius, I think he has a really bad case of that hungover thing," she said, turning to Sirius. "Do they treat that at St. Mungo's?"

Sirius just laughed.

"Presents!" Lily announced. She held a small box in her hands as James brought out a substantially bigger one.

"Mine first!" Marly insisted, running behind the couch to retrieve her gift for Harry. He was overwhelmed. He wasn't sure what to do. He wanted to stay here with his family, but he knew the longer he did, the harder it would be to leave.

Marly shoved a medium sized box in his hands. He looked at her in surprise and she rolled her eyes, pulling on the ribbon that tied it closed.

"You're supposed to open it, you dolt," she said.

Sirius chuckled.

Harry stared down at the open box. Inside he saw a golden Snitch, much like the one he had forgotten in his pocket, but it was bigger, about the size of his entire palm. Its wings fluttered to life, but it didn't fly away, since, he suspected, it was much too heavy.

"It's—"

"A Snitch," Marlene announced happily. "Take it out."

He obeyed and placed it on the table where it calmly flapped its wings. He ran his fingers over the smooth surface. "It feels like a real Snitch," he said, staring at her.

Marly flushed with pride. "That's not all it does. Tap it with our secret code," she said.

Harry's heart stuttered painfully. What if he could not remember the code? The look on her face would be devastating. She was looking at him with such hope and pride, he couldn't bear to let her down—

The rhythm came to him like an errant melody from a dream and he placed his finger atop the golden surface and began to tap. He watched in surprise as the front of the Snitch opened up to reveal a secret compartment—much like the one from Dumbledore—where inside was a card from Marlene.

"You can put anything you want in it. And watch what happens when someone else besides you touches it," she said, grabbing Sirius' hand and shoving it against the Snitch.

The device pointed its wings at Sirius' face and instantly began to shoot feathers and a dark ink that made them stick to him.

Harry let out a surprised laugh as Sirius made a noise of complaint and stood from the table to avoid the assault. James laughed loudly as Lily helped Sirius remove the feathers and tar from his face.

"Sorry, Uncle Sirius," Marlene said, sounding the least bit sorry.

"Brilliant," Harry said. "Thank you."

Marlene flushed with pride. He wrapped her in a hug, and she returned it as eagerly as she had this morning. This time, Harry was prepared for it.

"Next," James said, bringing the large present toward him. "It's not much, but, you know," James said stiffly. "It's Quidditch gear," he announced. "I noticed you needed some new stuff."

"Thanks," Harry said.

"Dad, you're doing it all wrong!" Marly cried. "He's supposed to open it, and _then_ you tell him what it is."

"Seriously, Prongs," Sirius drawled.

"It—there's not a proper way…just open the bloody present," James grumbled.

Harry laughed as he unwrapped the gear. He was so used to buying his own Quidditch equipment, it was strange having someone else know what his size was and what he preferred. It was all tip-top, as expected, and Harry surprised James by giving him a hug too—a very manly one, of course.

"Right, you're welcome, son," James said.

"Still wrong, Dad. He's supposed to say thank you first," Marlene said with an eye roll.

"Seriously, Prongs." Sirius mimicked Marly's eye roll with a goofy smile.

"Thanks…Dad," Harry said, tasting the word on his mouth for the first time. Dad. Hm.

James seemed to notice the way Harry said that word, too. He could tell it sounded different. He smiled. "You're welcome, son."

"Ah, he understands," Sirius whispered to Marly.

"How do we live among such dimwits, Uncle Sirius?" she whispered back.

"Cut it out," Lily said with a small laugh. "Sirius? You brought a gift I hope, after eating all his cake."

"Sure, but he can't open it here," Sirius replied. He winked at Harry and mouthed,_ It's Firewhiskey_. Harry grinned back.

"It's Mire Filled Ski?" Marly attempted.

"Yes," Sirius said, nodding.

"What is that?"

"You'll find out in about, hm, five years," Sirius said with a smile. She nodded sagely.

Lily rolled her eyes. "I will pretend I didn't see that. Here, love," she said, handing Harry the box.

He had a feeling he knew what his was. He looked to his wrist and saw the ratty old watch from his real life before Mrs. Weasley gave him Fabian Prewett's. He now wished he had that still, to remind him this was not real and not to get sucked up in this false reality, but he opened the box anyway.

Inside was an older watch than Fabian Prewett's, and when he looked up at his mum, she was smiling sadly at him. "It was my father's. It's not magical, so if you want me to buy you a new one in Diagon Alley today, I'd be happy to get you a magical one—"

Harry stood from the table and wrapped his mother up in a hug, much like he had when Mrs. Weasley had given him Fabian's. He loved Mrs. Weasley like a mother, but there was no substituting the feeling of his real mum's arms patting his back and squeezing him tight.

"Thanks, Mum."

"You're most welcome, Harry," she replied, beaming at him widely.

"Am I interrupting?" a voice came from the fire. They all turned to stare at the head in the green flames.

"Professor Lupin!" Harry shouted out. "It's you!"

"Hi, Harry," Lupin replied. "But I'm not a Professor…"

"Ignore him, Uncle Remus, he's hungover," Marly said, as if she understood what the term meant.

"Ah," Remus said, nodding with a small smile on his face. Harry noticed he looked less tired than the Remus he had known. "Sorry I couldn't be there, but something came up—"

"How is Teddy?" Harry blurted out.

"Who?" Remus asked, frowning. "Teddy who?"

"Oh," Harry said, realizing his mistake. "Never mind. What about, er, Tonks?" he asked. Would Remus still be with Tonks? Would Tonks be alive still?

Remus' eyes shot open. "How did you know?"

"Er, know what?"

Remus blushed—well, as much as Floo person could blush. "About Nymphadora."

Sirius sighed. "Well, I guess it would happen eventually. Welcome to the family, mate," Sirius said.

"It's not—we're not—it's very casual—"

"We're all very happy for you, Remus," Lily interrupted. She placed her hand on James' shoulder, who was seated at the table. Harry watched as his father put his arm around Lily's waist and brought her closer as he looked up at her face and she looked down at his. He could see the love between them and it made him blush. It was strange, but extremely right to see his parents together like this. Most children would find it disgusting, but Harry didn't care. His parents loved each other and that was the more than anyone could ask for.

"Yes, very happy," James replied, but Harry had a feeling he was no longer concerned with Remus.

"Right, thanks," Remus said awkwardly. "Well, happy birthday, Harry. Just popped in to say hello. I'll be over sometime next week, yeah?"

"See you, Moony," Sirius replied.

Remus disappeared from the flame.

"I have to go, too," Sirius said. "Gringotts calls to Albania."

"Bring me back something," Marly said.

"Always do, Little Genius," Sirius said, tapping her on the nose. "Stay sharp. Keep your father in line for me."

"Always do, Uncle Genius," she said, giving him a hug.

"Have a good year at Hogwarts this year," Sirius said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "I left your present in your trunk," he whispered with a wink. "Don't forget to write if you need anything."

"Thanks, Sirius," Harry said. He gave his godfather one last tight hug, knowing somewhere in his heart that this was the last chance he would have to do to so. This was the goodbye he never got to give his godfather. He tried to convey the gratitude he felt for Sirius coming to his rescue in the real world. He knew he couldn't stay here with this perfect family. He had to get back.

When he finally released Sirius, he was looking at Harry with a strange smile on his face. He gave Harry one last pat on the shoulder.

Sirius left, and Harry watched sadly as he flew up into the air in his motorcycle. It was ridiculous, but Harry felt like he was losing Sirius all over again.

"Ready for Diagon Alley?" Lily asked.

Harry nodded. Once he was out of this house and in more neutral territory, he would be able to think properly and figure out a way to leave this place.

But he really didn't want to.

The Potters apparated together into the Leaky Cauldron where they greeted Tom and made their way into the magical street. Harry knew he should start thinking about how to escape, but shopping with his family was such a new and exhilarating experience, he couldn't bring himself to do anything to stop it.

"Harry!" he heard his name called.

Harry turned and almost cried with relief when he saw Hermione and Ron coming towards him with huge smiles on their faces.

"Ron! Hermione!" he said, enveloping them in enormous, bone-crushing hugs.

"Ouch," Hermione complained. "Happy birthday, Harry," she said.

"Happy seventeenth, mate," Ron said. "We only saw you yesterday."

"Hi, Ron!" Marly said happily. She gave Ron a hug, which made Hermione purse her lips, but she wasn't petty enough to say anything.

"Hi, Marly," he said, embarrassed.

"Harry, love, we can meet you back here in an hour," Lily said, checking her watch. "We need to get Marly a new cauldron, so you three can shop around."

"Can I go with them, Mum? Please?" Marly asked.

"No, sweetheart," Lily said gently. "You need to pick out your cauldron. And you need new robes."

Marly pouted silently.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Potter," Hermione greeted. "It's lovely to see you."

"You too, Hermione," Lily replied. "You're looking beautiful as ever."

Hermione flushed as Ron grinned.

"Ron. Still keeping?" James asked.

"As long as our Quidditch Captain _slash_ Head Boy lets me on the team," Ron said. Harry could detect the hint of jealousy that was all too familiar in his best friend's voice, but to his surprise, instead of sulking, he wrapped his arm around Hermione with a smile as she flushed. "But I think Ms. Head Girl will keep him in line."

"All right, Harry. See you in an hour, okay?" Lily said, about to turn away with Marly in tow.

"Wait," Harry said. His heart was aching, but he knew this couldn't last. He had to get back. He could not go back to that home because he knew he would never leave.

He hugged his father first, taking notice of the fact that he was a couple centimeters taller than James, and that his father smelled of pine trees and leather. James patted him on the back and smiled questionably, but Harry refused to speak or stare too long at his face.

Next, he hugged his mother, who was at least a head shorter than him and still smelled of chocolate cake and honeysuckle.

"Harry, we'll see you in an hour," she said lightly.

He didn't answer, but knelt down in front of Marly, who looked a bit concerned.

"You are the best sister I could ever hope for," he said, gripping her shoulders and trying to memorize her face. "I'm happy to have met you."

She smiled at him, the only one not to look at him as if he were losing his mind. "Of course you are, silly," she said, flicking him on the nose. "I'm brilliant."

He was grateful for the joke because he was close to tears. He wondered if she could tell how sad he was and was trying to make him feel better. For a twelve year old, she was abnormally percipient. "Yes, you really are." He gave her a hug too and she squeezed his neck tightly.

He stood, looking at his family as people started to give them strange looks, but he hardly cared. The three of them smiled at him. James' arm was swung around Lily's shoulders and Marly stood in front of them, looking up at Harry admiringly.

"I love you," he choked out.

"We love you too, Harry," Lily said with a smile.

That was all he needed to hear. He turned on his heel as Hermione and Ron followed after him.

"Harry?" Hermione asked, her voice small. "Are you all right?"

"No," he said, wiping his eyes before he turned to look at his friends. "No, something is terribly, terribly wrong," he said.

"What is it?" Ron asked, startled. "Is everyone okay? No one's sick or dying, right?"

"_Ron_!"

"What? It's a logical assumption, the way everyone was hugging and crying and stuff—"

"Harry, tell us what the problem is," Hermione interrupted. "We can help."

Harry sat down at a table as Ron shooed off the waiter. "I—I don't belong here."

"Where?" Hermione asked, her eyebrows furrowed.

"Here. My family—they're—they're not real. My parents, they're dead, and I don't have a sister."

Hermione and Ron exchanged side-glances and Harry felt annoyed, but he also felt grateful since that was the first emotion other than sadness and despair and perverse hope he'd felt since he'd woken up that morning.

"Harry, we just saw them—"

"This is all wrong. It's not real. Voldemort killed them—"

"Who is that?" Hermione asked.

Harry froze. "_What_?"

"Who is Volde—that wizard?" Ron asked.

Harry stared at his friends. "Seriously?" he choked. "_Voldemort_?"

They shook their heads.

"The wizard who gave me this scar—?" he said, pushing back his hair to show them his forehead.

They both stared at him like he'd asked them to confirm his third eyeball.

"Er, what scar?" Ron asked, looking to Hermione for help.

Harry grabbed the spoon on the table and looked at his reflection for the first time today. There was no scar.

Harry gripped his head and wished he would just wake from this terrible dream already. His best friends, who had been through so much with him, did not know who Voldemort was—their greatest enemy—there was no scar, his parents were alive, he had a sister—what did this all mean?

"Harry James Potter," a voice—an angry voice said.

Ron swore. "You're screwed, mate, sorry. Never mind this Voldy fellow. Ginny is pissed. Whatever you did—"

"Come on, Ron, let's go," Hermione said, sending a poignant look at Harry. "You'll tell us for real later, won't you, Harry? Explain who Voldemort is?"

Harry nodded weakly. "See you later," he said, watching as Ginny waited with her arms folded against her chest off to the side.

"Good luck," Ron said as Hermione waved at Ginny before dragging Ron off.

Harry felt both anxiety and hope at seeing Ginny in front of him. She did look pissed—like right before she was about to perform an extremely pernicious Bat-Bogey—but she also looked beautiful, like a light in the midst of an impenetrable fog. He couldn't help but be affected by her presence, no matter how murderous she looked, or how inappropriate the situation.

She sat down, unspeaking and staring at him with narrowed eyes.

"Well?" she said.

"Ginny, something is wrong," he said desperately.

Her eyebrows furrowed. "You're not breaking up with me again, Potter," she said plainly.

"What? No," he said instantly. "No, something else."

That seemed to mollify her expression slightly, but she still looked angry. "What, then?"

"I—" he paused. How could he say this without sounding crazy? "I think there's something wrong with my brain," he went with.

She snorted. "You've got that right, Potter."

He blinked. Maybe he should apologize for whatever Dream-Potter did to make her this angry.

"Gin, I'm sorry—"

"Sorry?" she repeated, eyes flashing. "You're _sorry_? Are you sure you're not _thankful_?"

"Thankful?" he asked. He almost felt relieved she was yelling at him. It was something more immediate he could deal with than leaving his family and trying to reason with the fact that Voldemort did not exist in this alternate reality. "Should I be thankful for something?"

Wrong question to ask.

She picked up the saltshaker on the table and threw it at him. If he hadn't been a Seeker, it probably would have shattered his nose.

"Right," he said. "I've done something troll-like."

She didn't respond, but continued to glare at him.

"Look, I—my brain is not working properly. I can't remember anything from before, and the memories I do have are…wrong," he tried to explain. She didn't look like he was convincing her. "I—there are memories in my brain that don't belong to _this_ Harry," he said. She narrowed her eyes further. "This may sound like an excuse, but I'm not the Harry who pissed you off yesterday. I'm a different Harry. I don't belong here."

"What, in Merlin's bloody name, are you talking about?" she asked.

"I—" he sighed. He needed Ginny to understand. She _had to_ understand. Ron and Hermione would just look at him like he had too much coffee and would be so damn condescending he would want to rip his hair out. But Ginny would listen.

"Look, I—I woke up this morning, and I didn't know where I was," he started. "I was in a room—my room, but I didn't recognize it. It wasn't—my parents—"

"Harry," she said, calling him by his first name for the first time since she sat down. "What's wrong?"

Some of the anger seemed to disappear when she realized how much this was affecting him, but he could still see it there behind her eyes.

"I don't know," he choked out. "Something is, and I don't know how to get back."

"Get back to what?" she asked.

"I—home. I need to get home."

"You can apparate—"

"No," he said, despondently. She didn't understand.

"Harry," she said, scooting her chair closer and putting her hand on his cheek. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," he said, looking up at her. "I don't understand. Something is wrong."

"Tell me."

He couldn't. "Tell me what I did first. I don't remember. I was probably being a jerk." At least that made sense to him.

The anger returned and she dropped her hand from his face. He grabbed her hand before she could tug it away completely, and he held it firmly in place between his. She frowned, but didn't complain.

"You don't remember anything?"

"Call it temporary amnesia. A consequence of age."

She rolled her eyes. "We were talking."

"Yes," he prompted.

"And we said some things."

"That's usually what happens when people talk."

She glared at him. "I said something…important."

"Okay."

"And you said, 'Thanks'."

"Obviously that was wrong," he said, trying for a smile. It felt all wrong.

He noticed something else behind the anger. Ginny was hurt.

"Oh no," he said. "Damn it, Potter."

"What?" she said, looking up at him.

"Idiot," he said. "I'm a bloody dunce."

"What?" she repeated angrily. "Potter—"

"Ginny, I love you," he told her, looking straight into her warm brown eyes. "I've known for a long time now, and if I haven't told you enough, I'm sorry and I'm a bloody idiot, because right now, it's the only thing I'm sure about," he said. "Nothing else makes sense, but that. I need you to know that. Whatever happened before, I was being a dunce and I'm sorry that I hurt you. I love you. And I'm also thankful," he added. Because he was, really, even though that was possibly the worse thing Dream-Potter could have said to her in that moment.

She stared back at him with her mouth parted slightly and her eyes wide. He tried to express how much he loved her with just his eyes, and he noticed her cheeks turn pink under his stare. Ginny's cheeks never turned pink.

"_Harry_!" called Ginny's voice.

But he was staring right at her and her lips had not moved. It was a different Ginny who had called his name. The current one was still staring at him in surprise.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, looking around.

"Your love confession?" she asked as she came out of her shock. "Yes, I heard—"

"No, someone called my name—"

She scoffed. "There really is something wrong with your brain—"

"_Harry_!"

"There it was again!"

"_Come back_!"

"What?" the Ginny in front of him said. "Harry, seriously, what's going on?"

"I don't know. Hold on," he said, listening.

It was a faint whisper, but he could definitely hear it. Ginny's voice, whispering. _Harry, come back. Harry, come back_.

"Harry, hello?" the Ginny in front of him said. "Are you ill?" She put her free hand on his forehead.

"Probably," he said. He was feeling a bit faint. He blinked as her face began to blur. The only thing he could still feel as real were her hand in his and the other on his forehead.

"_Harry_!"

The world went black.

When Harry came to, he was in a bed—a hospital bed—and he felt like he had just awoken after sleeping underneath an ocean for five years. He groped for his glasses and put them on.

Ron and Hermione were sitting on the couch, their sleeping heads lolling against each other's shoulders. Ron's mouth was hanging open and he was snoring into Hermione's hair.

He turned to the other side when he realized his hand—the one Ginny had been holding in the other reality—was warm. He found his girlfriend's head resting on his hand, hers gripping it tightly as she slept. She was still wearing her Quidditch robes.

Wherever he had gone, he knew he was back. He was relieved, but the other half of him was paralyzed with sorrow.

"Hey," he said softly, using his free hand to push Ginny's hair out of her face.

She stirred awake and he waited patiently as she came to.

"Harry," she breathed in relief, wrapping her arms around his neck, gently, but firmly. "I'm so glad you're okay," she whispered into his ear.

"I had the strangest dream," he said.

"It wasn't a dream," Hermione said from the other side. Both she and Ron were waking up. "You were poisoned, Harry."

"What?" he said. Besides for the sharp aching in his chest, he didn't feel like he'd been poisoned.

"It was all my fault," Ron said desperately. "We were supposed to wait for the Potions Squad to check the room before we went in, but they were late and Hermione was waiting, so you said it would be all right if we went in before—"

"Idiots," Ginny said venomously, squeezing his fingers painfully. "You would think that after five years, you would learn there are still people who don't believe Voldemort is dead–"

"Oh, thank Merlin," Harry exhaled, reclining his head in relief. "Thank _Merlin_."

"Er, Harry—"

"What was it?" Harry asked. "The poison?"

"Draught of Despair and Desire," Hermione said, shivering. "The drinker will be forced to live out their greatest desires, while knowing it is _not_ real, and are unable to fully enjoy the seemingly real fantasy in front of them. If not treated immediately, the drinker will be stuck inside their minds until their bodies wither away—"

"I get it," Harry said. "I experienced it," he said. It came out sadder than he intended.

"We're even now, mate," Ron said grimly. "Shoved a bezoar down your throat after I pulled you out of the room."

"Thanks," Harry said, that body part in question now tight with emotion. He could still see little Marly Potter's face in his mind. And his parents. Happy. Together. Loving.

"Some people go mad when they're brought out of the trance," Hermione said quietly.

"I'm not mad," Harry reassured her. "I'm fine. Just tired."

She nodded. "Ron and I will leave you two alone."

They shut the door behind them as Ginny released his hand.

"What did you see?" she asked.

If it were anyone other than Ginny, he wouldn't have said anything. Probably not even to Ron or Hermione. The looks Hermione would have given him would not have been worth it. And Ron would have asked too many questions. But Ginny deserved to know.

"My parents," he said, looking down at his hands. It had felt so real, holding his family in front of him. Marly's smile. Sirius' wink. Lily's cake. James' hair.

She nodded. "What else?"

"Sirius was there. And Remus. Ron and Hermione."

She was trying to be stoic, but he could see past it. He should just put her out of her misery and tell her she was there too, but he needed to wait.

"I had a sister," he said.

Her eyes widened.

"Her name was Marly, short for Marlene. She had my hair and my dad's eyes. She was five years younger than me and she was best friends with Sirius."

"Harry," she said, grabbing his hand again and wiping his face with the other. "I'm so sorry."

"It was my seventeenth birthday and Voldemort didn't exist," he continued.

"Sounds perfect," she breathed.

"Not quite," he answered.

"How so?"

"You were mad at me," he said with a smile.

She laughed in surprise. "Was that the Desire or the Despair part?"

Harry smiled at her. "I enjoy making up with you. And telling you that I love you."

Her face stilled and she stared back at him. "You told me that in your dream?" she asked.

He nodded. "Before I woke up there, fantasy-poison-you told me you loved me and fantasy-poison-me said thanks. That's why you were mad."

The corner of her mouth quirked up in a smile. "Fantasy-poison-Ginny knows what's going on."

"So I apologized for being a dunce and told fantasy-poison-you that I loved you and that I didn't say it nearly enough times. I love you."

She smiled. "I love you back. Don't ever scare me like that again, Harry. I didn't even have time to change out of my Quidditch robes, I was so disoriented."

Harry frowned. "Only disoriented?"

She rolled her eyes. "I hit Ron with my broom when he told me and Hermione had to Body-Bind me in order to get me to stop."

Harry grinned. "Marry me."

"What?" she sputtered.

"The ring, it's in my robe pocket. Marry me, Ginny. Be my wife."

"Harry–"

"Don't answer now. Just think about it, okay? I know I'm in a hospital bed right now and they've probably got me on some kind of pain potion, but I've been carrying that ring around in my pocket for two years now and I've always been too much of a coward to ask you. Gryffindor would be ashamed. But I know now that I was being an idiot. Marry me."

Her face broke into the most brilliant smile Harry had ever seen and he wanted to whoop with joy. "Yes, you idiot man. I'll marry you. Took you long enough, you fool."

He kissed her and she climbed up onto bed with him, making his access to her mouth easier. She giggled against his lips as he snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her down against him.

A stern sounding cough interrupted them and they both looked up.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said weakly.

"Mum," Ginny complained. "You could have knocked."

"Excuse me," Mrs. Weasley said. "Harry is family, I didn't think I had to."

Ginny's eyes sparkled and she winked at him with a small shake of her head. Not yet.

She climbed off of him as Mrs. Weasley brought out some food. Thankfully, Mr. Weasley came in later, and knew nothing about Ginny in Harry's bed. Ron and Hermione returned to eat dinner with them and Harry watched them as they laughed together.

Harry couldn't help think about his dream. He missed his parents far stronger than he ever had in his life after having a taste of what his life could have been with them. No Voldemort, no death, no fear. His sister.

Harry understood how someone could go mad thinking about the visions that taunted him.

"Hey," Ginny said, bringing him out of his tortuous thoughts. "You okay?"

He nodded and held her hand. He was okay. He was going to be okay. Ginny was real and he still had her, Ron, Hermione and the rest of the Weasleys. No matter what he saw under the poison, he knew these people were real and here for him. As for Marly Potter, she could never be real, but Harry knew that one day, he and Ginny would have children, and at least one of them would be a daughter. It was that hope that protected him from the torment. James, Lily, Sirius and Marly would be remembered, and one day, they would be reunited. But not today. Today, Harry was here, alive and happy.


End file.
